National Partial Nudity Week

There seems to be a national day or week for just about everything now - and recent events in Eskdale have led us to declare this to be Partial Nudity Week. I have no doubt it is probably a nationwide phenomenon, too. It all started at 3am on Julia's late shift when she was woken up by a woman wandering around the hostel in her undies. A few days later we had the most lovely group of five guys staying a night. They had driven a long way to get here, and spent the morning taking pictures of each other posing topless in the stream. This was then followed up by photos of them arm wrestling on the bonnet of their hire car (which was parked right in the middle of the lawn). Both of these activities should absolutely be added to the definitive guide of 'Things to do in Eskdale'. 

Another activity, which is largely hostel specific, is an adaption of the game Kabbadi. This involves holding your breath for the duration of time spent in the oppositions territory. Now transfer this idea to making beds in an excessively stuffy (to be polite) dorm room. The tops bunks in particular are quite tricky. I'm sure this sport will soon by blacklisted by health and safety though - especially when my cause of death is listed as hyperventilation.  

Rachel, meanwhile, has quietly been growing courgettes big enough to feed a small country.  The largest weighed in at five and a half pounds - surely a winner in any village show competition. I think we also have several candidates for the village idiot competition, but that's another matter entirely. When my brother, Rory, was talking about this blog he said, "the overriding sentiment I get whilst reading it, is just how sorry I feel for Mick!" No idea what he's getting at. 

PS. We raised £65 for Breaks for Kids in our Euro 2016 charity sweepstake. There was the most unlikely winner - my younger brother drew Portugal from the hat (a Tupperware box). Unlikely because Hamish has never won anything football related in his life. Although, he did once score the most impressive own goal I've ever witnessed - I literally have no idea how he managed it. Many thanks to all those who took part, especially the staff at the Woolpack who, between them, must have bought up over half the teams! You're amazing x 

Bangor Pier and the Icelandic Jesus

It might have been Sunday night - Fiona would probably remember better than most. She was with Julia sorting out the new stack of pillows that had arrived for the hostel. I grew concerned when Julia returned, but Fiona did not. I discreetly asked Julia if she had smothered Fiona with a pillow. "No. I smothered her with all 48 of them." When Fiona did walk in a moment later, Julia quickly added....."then I brought her back to life." It's definitely worrying how well Julia fits in here. The madness is increasing at some incalculable rate. 

My dad came to visit for a few days, and he'd only been in Eskdale a matter of moments before he found his way to the Woolpack (dragged along by me to watch the Wimbledon final). Tom was there, and surprised to see me, having thought I'd actually died from the female version of man flu. Struan was also around, and in between trying to get my dad drunk (good effort), he randomly presented me with a Spurs shirt from 1997. I'm not entirely sure how much he remembers about it, so if anyone hears that he's looking for it......!! Unfortunately, I couldn't stay to watch Murray win, I got as far as 4-4 in the 3rd set before having to leg it down the road for the start of my shift. 

One of the things that my dad absolutely wanted to do whilst in Eskdale, was to take a ride on La'al Ratty - the steam train to Ravenglass. He was so excited in fact, that he pushed young children out of the yway in order to get the best seat on the train (a more accurate account of this is that we got to the station an hour early). 

On Tuesday evening I presented Fiona with an early birthday present. I think she was in denial about not wanting an Icelandic tattoo on her left buttock, so I bought her some of those temporary transfer things. Five in fact. She had great plans for all of them. "I'll wear one this way up, so it's like a cross - then people will think I'm the Icelandic Jesus. And another, I'll put down that way...." Which I thought was just a little too much detail. 

I headed off early the following morning - to North Wales, and my middle brother's PhD (in soil) graduation at Bangor University. After the ceremony I gave Rory an unique graduation gift - jelly worms in a mud filled Tupperware box. I didn't quite have the nerve to act upon Rachel's suggestion - that I went dressed as a worm (wearing my sleeping bag). While Rory went to the pub I went for a wander along to Bangor Pier with mum. I was very excited by the toilet at the end, which you could sit on and see the sea through the wooden planks below. 

In search of red wine and cheese

Fiona returned from Norfolk the day after I arrived back. She didn't stop once along the way, not even to go to the toilet. "I have an amazing bladder." (Or, as Rachel added, she didn't notice the large damp patch on the seat).

I can't quite recall how it came about exactly. But one afternoon I found myself on the way to Seascale with Rachel in search of red wine and cheese. After a while, Rachel just came out with it. "Your car is not big enough to do a decent impression of a gibbon in." The whole conversation about gibbons started because of the foamy banana shower gel we had bought for Fee-I-ona as part of her birthday present.  I said it would be fun to make her wash in it, and then take her to South Lakes Animal Park to see if the monkeys went crazy for her. I can just picture the scene. 

It was an interesting experience, driving the narrow roads of Eskdale with just Rachel for company. After a while I found myself having difficulty separating reality from the wild, free flowing events of our discussions - I can never be quite sure what really happened. I had to check my car over to make sure I hadn't actually crashed into five blue BMWs (one of them driven by Gandalf the White). There was something else, about upturned umbrellas with a bit of kidney in, that I can say with unwavering certainty - I have never stumbled across in my entire lifetime. It is, I have discovered, outrageously fun when your thoughts no longer pay much heed to what is possible, when these words we have created come together in any old strung along way, and it matters not one jot whether it is real. 

Amidst the pure, mad, times, I find myself afforded moments when my thoughts are slightly more grounded in reality. When I'm grasped by the true transient nature of everything, and most especially the time we have here, the time we have with one another. I wish this would strike me more often than it does, and that I might be filled with a greater urgency for just about everything I feel to be important. I don't want to wake up in the morning not fully acknowledging that I'm alive, I don't want to wait until the end to realise how simple it all was. Nearly a year ago, I lost a dear friend to suicide. There's so much I would do differently now, spend more time chatting, walking, drinking tea - or at least I like to think I would. Death makes life impossible to ignore, and by God I need to remember that. Treasure it all, and be present in every moment. 

"There's only one Darren Gale!"

It was good to get away for a night - driving on the M6 always brings a healthy slice of perspective, and of course it was lovely to see my mum and Hamish. I was able to watch the Tour de France, Wimbledon, and the Portugal v Wales match with my brother. My mum did wander in occasionally when the football was on, and when she wandered off again she could be heard singing "there's only one Darren Gale" to herself. (Darren Gale is Wales' best player. Apparently). 

The following morning I popped into the hospital to get a blood test. The nurse was lovely, but she was so busy telling me about the tandem that her husband has just bought that I don't think she was paying too much attention to where she was sticking the needle. I also can't rule out the possibility that she is actually a vampire and took the blood that way - such is the bruising on my arm. I guess we'll all know soon enough if a Twilight style reality TV show based in Eskdale is announced.  

 Each time I come back it strengthens the desire in me to keep coming back. It's not just the scenery, it's everything about this place (& most especially the people). I cannot recall a time in my adult life that I have been so happy, and to be aware of it as these times are happening, to revel in it, is incredible. I struggle to comprehend it sometimes, such is the difference compared to past moments of depression and crippling self doubt. I never imagined I would be able to think of all that and smile. 

I love the change, from busy motorways to narrow roads crowded with sheep and cows (Wrynose Pass was particularly interesting this time around). From built up towns to the wide open, eternal fells. Then it's into the drying room to collect my laundry which carries the slight scent of thirty damp wetsuits for the next couple of days. It's good to be 'home'.

The fraping of Fee-I-ona, & Esk Fest 2016

The day after our wild trip to Whitehaven, I lost my voice entirely, and Rachel's hearing wasn't too good. I think for me, it was a message from the universe that I shouldn't sing Dolly Parton so loud (or indeed sing at all). For Rachel, I suspect it was the universe's way of protecting her ears for sweeter sounds in the future. Either way, it made communication interesting for a few days. I couldn't speak, Rachel couldn't hear, so we reverted to elaborate hand gestures (inappropriate hand gestures in Rachel's case), and interpretative dance. Rachel did have an alternative theory for my lack of voice, though. She reckons that my thyroid has grown back, mutated, and is now pressing on my windpipe. "You'll have to tell your doctor that you need more radioactive stuff, K! Or just go and drink some sea water near Selafield." Meanwhile, Mick wandered around serenely, commenting on how lovey and peaceful the world is. 

On to more serious matters - the fraping of Fee-I-ona. It started off fairly mildly. An amiable post about how much she loves Rachel and I. But she didn't learn her lesson - she left her Facebook logged on, again. What happened next was for her own good - although I'm not sure she has actually noticed yet. There's no doubt who she will blame though, when she realises that she has inadvertently proclaimed to the world that she's getting the Icelandic football team's badge tattooed on her left butt cheek.

The weekend saw one of the events of the valley year so far. Esk Fest 2016 was being staged at the Woolpack - a two day music festival, organised by the amazing Tom-Tom. Mick was due to be playing the fiddle with his folk band, until disaster struck a few weeks ago when he badly injured his finger - hopefully next year. Unfortunately, it was true festival weather, but the need for wellies and waterproofs didn't seem to dampen the spirits. It was a wonderful way of bringing people to Eskdale, and a wonderful thing to hear live music while you worked. Great job by all involved. 

Certainly since being here, I've never been so relived to have a few days off. We've all been feeling it a little after a really busy week and a bit. Fiona has gone to Norfolk (which is apparently further away from Eskdale than Poland), far away from where I can access her Facebook login.....and I'm heading south on the M6 for a blood test, and my mum's amazing cooking (beans on toast - if I'm really lucky). Just before leaving, I asked Rachel if she wanted me to pick her up anything from a shop. "No thanks, K. I'm going to get my buttocks massaged today." 

Whitehaven Nights

We spent the morning cleaning the hostel and dreaming up a wild staff outing to 24 hour Tesco in Whitehaven. The plan was essentially this: do a bit of shopping, and sit out on the harbour wall drinking cough mixture straight from the bottle. Sadly we had to leave Fiona and Mick behind. Fiona was on the late shift, and Mick was suddenly very busy doing something else. So Julia, Rachel, and I jumped into my car and headed off for the coast. If we had planned for every eventuality we could have performed a sneaky drive by water pistol shooting of Tom-Tom as we passed the Woolpack. Instead I struggled to locate the horn, wind down the windows, and wave. The journey there was filled with stories of bearded men being stopped by the police for driving too close to Selafield, and the occasional interesting revelation from Rachel. "I think I might be Lance Armstrong. I'm taking drugs, and I don't have any testicles."*

When we arrived at Tesco, Rachel (playing mum) said we all had to go round together. That didn't last long though, as she went off to sniff all the different scents of shower gel. We all bumped into each other again at the chocolate isle, and then we went to select our choice of cough medicine. Rachel tried to get me in trouble by telling the shop assistant that I'd stuffed my rucksack full of 5 pence carrier bags at the self-service checkout without paying for them. It was all lies. 

We managed to make it out of the shop, and headed over to the harbour to watch the sunset. I was super keen to have a race to the end, but no one was really up for it until Julia mentioned speed walking. It is entirely possible that she is secretly the current Polish national champion at the event. Even Rachel, with legs as tall as a house (& a 7 time Tour de France winner), couldn't keep up with her. 

On the way back Dolly Parton somehow managed to make it onto the stereo. We asked Julia if she knew who it was, to which she replied...."is it that Chris de Burgh person you love?" We shared all the Dolly Parton facts we knew; about how American life vests in the 1970s were nicknamed 'Dolly Parton's', and that Dolly the sheep was thus named because she was cloned from breast tissue. After a few moments pause I said, "I think my boobs are bigger than Dolly's....look!" Rachel didn't seem either convinced or impressed...."I'M NOT LOOKING AT YOUR BOOBS, K!" 

It's possible that the journey home was twice as long as the journey there. Nothing to do with the traffic at all, but more because I had to stop so frequently from laughing (and consequently crying) too much. Rachel served as an excellent co-pilot, though - putting the hazard warnings lights on at all the appropriate moments. Quite amazingly, I think Julia actually managed to fall asleep for a bit in the back. 

*I don't think Lance Armstrong ever actually confessed to taking paracetamol 

 

The problem with chickens

The last weekend in June saw two sporting events come through the valley. I was on the late duty Friday night, and I've never checked in (or checked out) so many cyclists. The majority were doing the coast to coast in a day, which started very early the following morning from Seascale (10 miles away). There was also the cycle leg of Triathlon X which went past the hostel before heading up Hardknott & Wrynose pass. I didn't anticipate actually being able to see any of the events, but as I wandered along to the post box after the morning shift at work, I spotted a few riders, and then another - this one wearing an Oxygen Addict kit. I knew my younger brother's coach was taking part, and although he has never met me I yelled out some encouragement (and loudly explained that I was Hamish's sister). After posting my letter I hurried back to get Rachel, and we both sat on the wall cheering on the other cyclists. Rachel actually thought that I was in with a good chance of landing myself a whole heap of men for the weekend. "While they're in such a weakened state, all you need to do is put a stick through their spokes - I'll bring the van down and they'll all just tumble in." I think she should start up a new kind of dating agency. We almost walked straight into the post van coming down the drive, but it was all ok because he's a cheery sort who does his round in a white singlet vest, and thinks Rachel lives in the hostel's drying room. 

The four of us became five on Saturday afternoon - we have been joined by Julia for a month. She is lovely and great, and didn't seem at all put off when the first thing we asked her to do was to join in a game of Hunt the Rotten Potato (a real thing, not a dodgy sequel to The Hunt for Red October). The following morning, as we all sat around eating breakfast, Fiona suddenly started to say, "The problem with chickens is that they die." We felt bound to question her about what her parents had taught her regarding the immortality of certain animals. I can't be certain, but I think she spent the rest of the day mourning the death of three goldfish and a hamster.  

Fiona seems to spends a significant proportion of her time up a ladder. Nothing really to do with her height (or lack of - she is frequently heard to say that this hostel is heightist), but more to do with the fact that she keeps locking her room key, and the spare room key, inside. The only way in then is through the window, and her room is on the first floor. It was on one such occasion, just before a school group were due to arrive, that Mick yelled a question to me to pass on to Fiona. I think something must have been lost in translation, because I shouted up the ladder to Fiona, "Mick wants to know how many armed guards you want? They're in the bell tent at the moment keeping out of the rain." 

A more serious note (more a note to self) 

A slight despondency has settled in the air, and it has little to do with England's shock exit from the European Championships. There will always be times of great uncertainty, when our jobs, our security, our way of life, come under threat. We cannot deny that many of these things are out of our control - that the ball continues to be in motion, and we have no idea where it may briefly settle, or if it will ever stop. But here's the thing - I do believe that, one way or another, everything will be alright. It is all too easy to let resentment breed, anger even, with hope for the future diminished by these things. But we must guard our minds, guard our thoughts, and not let our good will and kindness be overcome. We must not forget the impact we can have (and do have) as individuals to do good, and to care for those around us. The differences we have, the things that divide us, are nothing in comparison to what unites us. So much can be dispensed with, our opinions might not always be the same, but that does not stop friendship, respect, and community. Our fortune comes not from money but from where we are born. That we are born at all, that we are who we have grown to be - the fundamental spine of our existence is connection, unity, and never isolation. We remain a part of something bigger than ourselves, a part of something bigger than a single nation, a part of the 7.4 billion. 

Whatever the future holds, whatever problems it may bring, we must face it with courage, conviction, and above all, compassion. Let us not take to blaming others, let us listen better, and disagree more peacefully.